


Scourge

by BlueRam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRam/pseuds/BlueRam
Summary: Voldemort was vanquished, Wizarding Britain fell and then rose again from the ashes. He stayed behind to pick up the pieces his dearest friend and brother, Ron, a casualty of war strapped up to a hospital bed alive but forever sleeping. It was too much, he had to leave. No sooner had he left it all behind for Gotham that Harry finds himself returning to wizarding Britain, heartbreak at his back and the clash of these two different worlds spelling chaos for the world in its entirety.{ A short fic}
Relationships: Harry Potter/ Bruce Wayne (past relationship), Harry Potter/Doctor Fate
Comments: 22
Kudos: 139





	Scourge

CHAPTER ONE

“It’s done then,” More a statement than a question filled with little if any emotion. No anger, not hate, not even a minuscule portion of bitterness to wet the tongue and unleash the pain of a broken heart.

Broken.

The child’s wails rang in the New Year. Loud and strong; proof that they lived, proof that they survived nine months in the belly of the beast. A woman who had stormed into their lives like hellfire burning so bright, so beautiful—irresistible.

“S—sir?”

Fist clenched so tight that knuckles paled, blunt nails seemingly grew sharp enough to pierce unyielding skin—Harry said nothing. Outside fireworks lit the sky, cheers loud and clear even as storm clouds rolled in from the east and lightning crackled not too far away.

That woman lay bare in their bed; in their sheets, a child nestled to her bosom bearing proof of their fight to greet the world. Her pretty raven hair whispering against her fair skin. Pale for the battle she had fought and won, a precious smile on her pretty lips and sharp eyes softened for the life that she had birthed. The life she has given the man who had been his only. His saviour. The love of his life and the man that he would consider building a family with.

“Batman makes no mistakes,” His voice was steady. More firm than he felt at that moment. Not like the weak fence he had become that a mere wind would see his end. He refused to look at the man who stood before him. A class of whiskey in his strong hand, suit sleek and unyielding.

Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s darling prince and the holder of all their hopes and dreams. Too good for him.

“Neither does Bruce Wayne,” Harsh—accusing! A dagger to the heart, enough that he could barely breathe, the weight of those judging eyes behind him heavier than ever.

The doctor, Bruce’s children—Dick, Todd, Tim—all of who had never liked him. Never trusted him and perhaps with good reason. An untrusting gaze that lingered and watched in the night. Judging eyes for the intruder that was Harry Potter, hardly just a gold digger they wagered or was he—for the secrets he held so dear not even they could unravel.

A serpent!

He wavered then, tears burning at the corners of his eye but would not dear fall. His heart but and emptied chasm that threatened to swallow him whole. He bit his lips, throat bopping at the harsh truth he was forced to swallow. To know that he had never been worth a thing! Not even a measure for respect—and perhaps he was being unfair! Perhaps he was wrong to be angry, wrong for wanting to lash out at all of them! At Bruce, at his children, even the one just born, at the doctor and that vile woman for daring to presume who he was!

He hated them and maybe that made him bitter for in his hate you could never acknowledge that he had been unfair. That he had piled judgment on a newborn child and dare to call it, him, her them whatever a mistake!

May he was wrong for thinking they had no right to treat him this way and discard him. He had never belonged, would never belong. From the moment he had set foot in Wayne Manor he was unwelcomed. Alfred Pennyworth with his thin smile and barbed words hidden in pleasant conversation. Proper and put together and direct without being rude, without being false—the muggle British queen’s English.

He was Harry Potter and yet,

Yet,

He was nothing.

Harry spun on his heels and left then, cloak billowing behind him as he clasped it around his neck. His feet thundered down the stairs, echoing in his mind, like a nail to a wooden coffin—because selfishly he had hoped Bruce would come after him—call him, even!

No, what he was faced with was silence.

How the mighty have fallen and how Tom Riddle must roll in his grave that his sworn enemy—and perhaps not equal if not for the whispers of a self-fulfilling prophecy—would dare to seek absolution and pity from anyone. A war hero who lost so much would crumble before the rejection of a man who knew nothing.

“Harry! Harry—damn it, Harry will you wait!” He didn’t, angered and hurt as he stormed down perfectly placed gravel, the furious wind cold against his skin and the air infused with the scent of new rain. Rain, it was going to rain or perhaps it had begun with the single drop that slid down his cheek and clung to his chin.

“Harry!”

“He chose her, Hermione! He chose her!” he furiously spun to face his friend, unimaginable agony with every heaving breath and with the roll of thunder above them.

“After everything I—I loved him! I loved him and he—this wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not after I left for peace of mind, peace of heart I’m not—” He grasped for words that weren’t there, his mind a jumbled mess as he racked his hands through chaotic curls. Pulled at the strands that his scalp became tender, the Wayne Manor looming behind them and the motor of Hermione’s car running idle before them.

“Harry!” He looked up then, Hermione’s sweet brown eyes firm and steady as they always were, her unruly chestnut hair tangled with the wind, not so far from the late Bellatrix’s hair, if but a bit tamer as he flowed over her shoulders and back.

She moved so quickly, hands squeezing both his arms so tight, anchoring him the world lest he spiral into an abyss of his own making. Lose his mind as he ought to do most days with the whispers of worlds purposefully forgotten at the helm of a shattered psyche.

It would be remiss to say he had left that war unbroken and untainted by the evils of the night.

“Harry, stop. Stop this!” She pleaded and perhaps it was not a plea because Hermione Granger did not much plea, but rather demanded, especially for those she held dear. Especially those she could not bear to part with or see destroy themselves. She shook him, beseeched him to get his about him.

“But—”

“What would you have him do, Harry? Truthfully, would you rather him deny that child and throw both it and that woman out in the cold of Gotham to die to please you, to love you?” It was cruel, or perhaps only for that moment, Hermione’s words seemed cruel as she stared into his eyes and dared him to break her gaze. Dared him to speak anything that was not the truth and stand by said lies.

Harry sneered at the implications, tearing into his lips as he pulled away from his sworn blood sister. That bitterness that never came in that room filled with judging eyes and his lover’s cold disregard, his strong back ever facing him, his tormentor.

Lightning streaked to the sky now, thunder a breath too late as the heavens opened up above them. Raindrops like shards of glass pierced their skins, bruised them and laid them bare for the world to see. The fireworks couldn’t be heard, the voices in unison so great their power that they were heard from the Wayne Manor, silenced and that wailing baby’s cries—mute.

Innocent.

Harry turned his back to Hermione, his arms around himself as if to ward off the assault from above, only for them to fall listlessly to his sides, his shoulder’s tense.

“Is it wrong that a larger part of me wished that that baby never—hell, I’m monster aren’t’ I?!” He furiously wiped his eyes the lump in his throat too big to swallow, heart hammering against his chest like a caged animal.

“I fled like a coward from my own world! I abandoned Ron when he needed me—when _you_ needed me! I ran from greater possibilities into the arms of a muggle vigilante and fell in love like a fool. Now because said lover has spurned me I wish the destruction of a child whose fault is only being born from a man I love with all my heart and a woman I despise with my every soul!”

“Merlin! Five years, five years I’ve left wizarding Britain and what do I have to show for it. That I’m a blithe on anyone’s life the moment I touch them. Not, good enough! Wicked like Alfred would believe, like those damn Robin’s with their holier than though image, would believe of me!”

Hermione said nothing, she simply moved to stand beside him, her hand a well-needed weight against his shoulder. Harry shuddered, his skin crawling from his dangerous thoughts. He wished he could scrub his skin raw and find absolution.

He was no saint, but still—

“Let’s go home, Harry,” and that was the end of that. Hermione’s low heels a rhythmic click against wet gravel, her skirt swishing around her knees. She entered her car and opened the passenger door, before tightening her grip around the steering. She would not ask again.

Harry hesitated for a moment, he looked over his shoulder at that manor, green eyes corrected by magic staring up at that one window of the manor. His eyes saw more than any muggle could or would ever.

Bruce Wayne stood with his new-born baby cradled in his arms, surrounded by his sons and the old butler he could never read. Bruce was happy and as he looked away from his child to the woman who was in their—no, no longer theirs’s, his bed—Harry wondered about the gaze Selena was granted. Was it one of love?

He turned away and steadily made his way to Hermione’s car, he didn’t dare to look back even when he felt the heavy weight of Bruce’s stare at his back. He sat in that car and closed the door with a thud, seat belt in place and face forward.

“She was always there you know, Selena Kyle. I would ask him about her and he would remain tight-lipped for the most part. Alfred, and perhaps he was being unkind, let me known Bruce and her had a history that went right back to their childhood.”

Hermione turned the car, stones crunching under the tires and the pitter-patter of rain on the windshield, wipers sluggish as the scrapped against the glass. The yellow of the headlights could barely be seen through the heavy fog that had rolled in the New Year not so new by a few hours now.

“I left what remained of Harry Potter behind because it was too painful. I didn’t want to see the new world that would rise from the ashes of Voldemort’s defeat and by extension wizarding Britain’s destruction,”

Harry looked out the window, seeing nothing, his hands folded in his lap, as he twisted a simple silver ring around his finger.

“He trusted me enough to let me know who he truly was and maybe that’s where it all went wrong. I couldn’t do the same for him. He knew I hid something and perhaps he knew he couldn’t trust me—”

Hermione scoffed, rudely interrupting Harry as she pulled off the main roads and to the back alleys where an international portkey awaited them.

“Bruce Wayne, Batman or whatever the hell he is broke your trust and slept with a woman he assured you were no threat! Multiple times Trust? _Please_ , if you hadn’t seen for yourself you would have never known his persona as Batman, you wouldn’t know about his bird collection and his silly friend out there playing hero!”

She spared Harry a glance before reaching over and clasping his hand in her own.

“You’re no saint, Harry Potter and I more than anyone don’t expect you to be. Hell, not even our people for all the horrors they’ve seen expect you to. You needn’t forgive him right now and bloody hell, don’t blame yourself!”

Harry said nothing at first staring at their clasped hands, eyes trained on the simple wedding band she now wore on her right hand.

“Ron would have punched him in the throat,” Harry muttered softly but Hermione heard none the less, chuckling to herself as she squeezed his hand tighter.

The cabin was silent but for the sound of the car cruising down a narrow road, long corn stalks swaying in the wind and the city of Gotham to their back.

“I forgive you, you know. For leaving us, I was hurt at first, but I understood. Ron would have—”

“No, he wouldn’t! At least, not at first.” Harry smiled sadly before looking out the window once more.

“You’re right, it would be you he would punch in the throat!” Hermione grinned, sensing that Harry was more at ease now. In but hours he would need all his energy and all his wits about him. He had left a wizarding Britain that he helped to put back on its feet and, now it was crumbling. This time it wasn’t only the wizarding Britain at the brink of destruction, but the entire wizarding world.

Harry sighed and in the comfortable silence that consumed him he allowed the first tear of his shattered heart to fall. He allowed Bruce’s face to invade his mind. The sweet memories they shared as he spilled coffee over the man’s shirt. Their first meeting. Harry Potter, hidden away in Gotham’s grand museum as a muggle curator.

How he fell for the man that was his freedom from the pain he left behind.

“I loved him, Hermione. I really, truly loved him,”

It was the truth, but that love didn’t matter now did it? Besides, he had no time to dwell on a love that never was or could ever be.

TO BE CONTINUED…


End file.
